


capital sins and other cravings

by Anonymous



Category: Channel Zero (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Half-Sibling Incest, Obsession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:54:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28108149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: At the vacation house, Jill has trouble sleeping.
Relationships: Jillian Hope Hodgson/Ian
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6
Collections: Anonymous, Yuletide 2020





	capital sins and other cravings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [madeinessos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/madeinessos/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide! 
> 
> I took loose inspiration from the web serial Worm by Wildbow regarding Ian's explanation about his and Jill's powers. No evidence if it's true or not for Channel Zero, but I thought it would make for some sufficiently dramatic exposition dialogue.

Jill’s phone buzzes. Ian peers over - Tom, he assumes - and then he hears the floorboards creak. He draws away and pulls a reflexive smile as Jill emerges. 

“Sorry,” Jill says. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“I couldn't either,” Ian says. He holds up the pack of almonds in his hand. “That’s the thing about our… thing. Gives me the worst case of munchies.” 

“The munchies?”

Jill has that serious probing look in her eyes, the one that’s become one of Ian’s favorites. He likes that - it’s the same kind of curiosity that’s driven him all these years. In her eyes, there’s more life and light than any creation of his own making. 

She notes: “You were stuffing your face after making that werewolf-cat, too.” 

“Yeah,” Ian says. “Not the most attractive habit, but I just feel this, y’know, hunger. Want a bite?” He shakes the packet at her. “Or I could rustle something out of the cupboards. Maybe that’ll help you sleep and recharge.” 

Jill shakes her head and settles into the armchair. “I’m good. Not hungry. I guess it’s different for me.” Her phone seems to have stopped buzzing - good, Ian thinks, no distractions - and she turns her hands up in her lap. “I still can’t believe we did that.” 

“You did that,” Ian reminds her. “Pretzel Jack was yours - and I could _feel_ him in you. He’s so much of you, Jill, and you just needed some guidance. A nudge, right?” 

Ian remembers the first time he banished Tall Boy. It had felt like his entire world was deteriorating around him. He’d gone to sleep and dreamed of a candy house like the witch’s from that fairy tale. Engorging himself on gumdrops and chocolate until he was full to the bursting, monsters spilling out of gingerbread doors. 

“Well,” Jill says, shaking Ian from the memory, “I appreciate the nudge, then.” 

They sit in silence for a couple of seconds, Ian in between bites of his midnight snack. 

Eventually, Jill says, “So. What’s your theory about this, anyway? You’ve got to have one. I think we can safely rule out radioactive spiders. I don’t think I’m an alien, either. That likely would’ve come up during my last doctor’s appointment.” She ticks the points off on her fingers. 

Ian lets out a low laugh. “Don’t think we can rule anything out for sure. I’ve got ideas, but we still don’t have a big enough data set. Just you and me. It’d be jumping the gun to make conclusions.” 

She scoffs. “You’ve known about this-- what did you call it? tumor-- since you were a kid. You’ve been spitting trivia like a _Jeopardy_ contestant the day I met you.” Her expression softens. That intense curiosity again. “C’mon. I won’t laugh.” 

He could tell her about their father. He could tell her about wondering about an inheritance in their blood like a miracle. But he looks at her eyes and her mouth, and he feels a wrenching tightness in his chest. 

He’s been hers. He’s been hers ever since their father gave him half her name, like there’s one soul split between them, dreaming dark dreams. And right this moment, this one night, he doesn’t want that word -- that secret -- that obsession -- breathed in the air between them: _brother._

Instead, he munches his almonds, swallows, and he smiles. “Here’s one theory. Um. You remember studying the laws of thermodynamics in school? The rule of conservation of energy.” 

She furrows her brow. “Uh, yeah. Energy can’t be created or destroyed.”

“Right. Can’t make something out of nothing.” 

“So, we’re breaking the rules of physics. That seems pretty obvious to me. Monsters out of nowhere."

“But the question is,” Ian says, waving his hand, “where did they come from? Our minds dream and send the right signals, but I think there’s a well we pull from. Jung’s collective unconscious but more literal. We’re still _creating_ , but think of it like origami. Folding paper animals and objects. You’re still gonna need the paper.” 

He pauses for effect. “Have you heard of the multiverse?” 

Her eyebrows knit even closer. “Are you saying there are multiple universes?” 

“Universes, dimensions, realities, whatever you want to call ‘em. I hypothesize we’re reaching out to them. All those worlds where anything is possible -- we pick out our metaphorical paper. Blue paper, red paper, yellow-striped, an impossible color that can’t be seen on this universe’s color spectrum. But for us, specifically, they’re these things, these creatures.” 

Jill looks thoughtful as she absorbs the information. “Could be. It’s as crazy as everything else that’s been going on. I think I like that idea. Different universes.” 

“Different possibilities, different lives,” Ian agrees.

“I would’ve liked that,” she says, her head lolling back on the armchair, inclined toward the night sky outside the window. “For things to be different. So I wouldn’t _hate_ so much because I was afraid. Like a reset button. Why can’t there be a door for that?” 

Quietly, he says, “You shouldn’t be scared of this part of you.” 

“You’ve been saying over and over,” Jill says, “that I’m special. It’s nice -- it _is_ \-- but it isn’t true. Not for me, anyway.” 

Ian huffs. “Jill, if you pulled a random guy off the street, he’s not gonna have superpowers like us.” 

“With these ‘superpowers,’ I killed Jason and almost killed Tom. Because I’m so fucked up."

Heated, Ian cuts in, “ _So what_? Maybe we’re wired a little differently because of our shitty childhoods, but that doesn’t take away from our ability. It doesn’t take away from that fact that you’re -- you’re beautiful. Everything you do is.”

She flinches. “What? I--” 

“I know,” he says, his voice low, “we could’ve made angels. We could’ve made cute talking animals like--fucking Snow White or something. But instead we made monsters, who’ll kill for us, who’ll give any other kid nightmares except us. 

“And it’s okay. It’s what we needed. Pretzel Jack -- he loved you, will still love you if you bring him back. He’ll make you smile and laugh and hurt anyone who hurts you.

“You did that. You made him. Plucked him from an impossible world out there. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with someone who dreams of worlds like that.” 

He hopes that he hasn’t said too much or gone too far. But he can’t help it. It hadn’t been enough to stay at a distance, his crows perched on treetops. (One lone feather had drifted down on her hair like a gift, a flower, she-loves-me-not. He wishes he could’ve buried her underneath them like rain.) 

His tongue darts out to lick his lips, tasting salt crystals from the almonds, and he reaches his hand out to touch her face. 

“I’m not worth a big speech like that,” she says, meeting his gaze levelly. The surprise is fading from her face, ebbing into cautious gentleness. “And there's - there's Tom."

“I know.” 

“We barely just met--” 

“I know,” Ian says, “but I’ve known you. Felt you through the dreaming.” 

“I think,” she says, “I know you, too.” She inhales, exhales, and shifts her cheek against his palm. “I’ve always wondered what it would take to make a marriage break. To do what my dad did.” 

“You’re not him.” Ian bites out the sentence vehemently, harshly. “This isn’t anything like that. This isn’t about breaking a family, it’s--” Putting it back together. Putting their split soul together as one. Tom was never _first_ , never should have been.

“Please,” Ian says. With effort, he pulls his hand away. He lowers himself downward, and he looks up at her from on his knees on the ground. “Let me show you.” 

And then he sees: a raw hunger in her eyes, the same hunger that he’s seen in his own. Except his is his appetite, burgers by the pound, while this is another vice, urging and all-consuming.

“Okay,” she says, her voice rough. "You can."

He buries his face in her lap, nuzzling, experimenting, the brush of his lips and stubble. Her legs quivering and parted; her hips arcing and aching; and he tastes her, desperately, like the glutton that he’s always been.

It’s perfect. She’s perfect. He stands and kisses her over and over again, and she returns every kiss measure by measure. Later they collapse in bed, curled against each other and sated. 

* * *

That night, Jill dreams of gingerbread houses. 


End file.
